


Just One More Time

by Eternal_Garbage_of_a_Spotless_Mind



Series: Alternative Universes Of All Shapes and Sizes [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Cullen Rutherford is Arthur Daniels obviously, F/M, Implied Relationships, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, POV Cullen Rutherford, Reincarnation, Romantic Angst, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7399387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternal_Garbage_of_a_Spotless_Mind/pseuds/Eternal_Garbage_of_a_Spotless_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Daniels dreams of places and people he had never met. And more often than not he dreams of <i>her.</i></p><p>The one Cullen Rutherford had loved and had lost.<br/>Are there second chances after all?</p><p> And what if beyond those second chances lies something much deeper and darker?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This just.... happened. I never even dwell in Reincarnation AUs but all of the sudden this had to be written. And of course, because it is me we are talking about, it had to be done with some angst. Forgive me for the grammar - Perfect tenses are NOT my friends.
> 
> Hope you like it ^^

**Prologue**

Do _you_ believe in second chances? He did not, at first. After all, we die, we become dust and that’s that. To expect there is something waiting for you on the other side, whatever it is, is fool’s errand. 

These invasive dreams had changed everything. They have started a while ago - unremarkable at first for he had been dreaming of battlefields his entire life.

But then _she_ came to him, her hand blazing green, its glow and purpose repulsive to his very nature.

She was some kind of noble and he did not like them, pampered and useless as they were. But she reeked of magic, making his head spin and forcing him to keep his distance at first. She, in turn, saw him for what he was and never came close either. But the gazes lingered, a fraction of a second longer with each passing day.

He had finally been caught day dreaming behind the desk. A colleague gave him a prod, nudging him out of the stuporous haze.

“Care to explain this?”

It took him a moment to see the problem, the woman’s finger tightly pressed near the field with the signature. He had readjusted his glasses carefully and surveyed the supposed problem. ‘Cullen Rutherford,’ the name said, clearly written in his own handwriting.

His hand ran nervously through his neat golden hair, settling down on the back of his neck.

“Arthur?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed perhaps a bit too enthusiastic and huffed in frustration. “I - I’m sorry but I have no idea why I did this.”

“Are you well?” she asked tentatively, examining his features. He knew what she saw - a pallid face of an insomniac. For quite a while now, despite the fact he slept soundly through the night, he woke up as tired as he had been the day before.

“I -.” he stuttered, unable to answer such simple question. Was he well? What were these dreams? And _she_ \- 

“Arthur!” the woman snapped her fingers in front of his nose, making him gasp for air in surprise. His reaction made her frown and she scooped up the paperwork from his desk, nodding at the door. “Take a day off, Daniels, you are no good to us this way.”

All he could do was nod and stand up, droning down the stairs and out of the building. Aimlessly he wandered around muttering her name. His name. The name of the people and places he had only seen through a prism of his feverish dreams.

A bench in the park was as good place as any when his body gave in to exhaustion and he dropped down, laptop falling on the ground with a loud thud. It must have been a while, sitting there and staring at the pigeons digging for food in the dust.

The shadows became longer, the sky darkening slowly when he had finally stood up, deep sigh leaving his chest and trudged back home, a feeling of extreme sadness so numbing it was difficult to think.

He had promised to protect her from anything and anyone. 

_He_ killed her. 

His cruelty and vengeance knew no boundaries. He came for them and made them pay for every doubt and opposition he had encountered along the way.

The doorbell rang shrilly through the quiet apartment, jerking him to his feet. How he ended up back in his bed, office clothes cramped and stained with sweat was a mystery. This had to stop. Perhaps if he were to go to someone... Hypnosis, therapy... 

_Maker_ , anything.

His head was pounding, just like when the poison was still coursing through his veins, leaving his battered body slowly and painfully. He did it for himself back then.

No.

For _her_.

Struggling with the locks he had finally opened the door and the sight made him freeze on the doorstep, eyes open wide in utter disbelief.

The stranger in front of him. 

Tall and elegant, her raven black hair was tied behind in a bun. Heavy golden earrings accentuated long neck and paleness of her delicate skin. Blue eyes shone brightly on her heart - shaped face. In her hands she was holding a familiar black case - the laptop he had so carelessly left in the park.

“You’ve left this at the Tayster Park, mister - ” she quickly checked the case. “Mister... Rutherford?” her voice waned for a moment, a strange tone in it. Her eyes darted to his face and back to the suitcase, unable to comprehend her own guttural to reaction to the surname she had read. She shook it off, he could tell - creases on her forehead smoothing slowly.

“I, ah, am very much obliged,” he mumbled, trying to ignore the - yet another - evidence of the alien surname sneaking into his daily life. “Do you want some tea maybe?”

“I won’t say ‘no’.” was the simple answer.


	2. Correct Me If I Am Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Something borked with the chapter and so I had to repost it. :/
> 
> This was supposed to be a one - shot. Like... i don't even know. But the plot bunnies would not leave me alone. I seriously could not sleep. So I went and continued this.
> 
> I don't know where EXACTLY this is going.  
> I don't know for how long my fuse will continue burning.  
> My record shows I suck at long continuous writing.
> 
> But let's roll with this while we can. And please let me know what you think ^^ Knowing people are interested gives me an extra boost :3

**Correct Me If I Am Wrong**

These have been very awkward fifteen minutes of sitting and hiding behind the tea cups. At least she had given him her name - Melissa. As she was ready to leave, Melissa gave him one more glance. Arthur would not blame her for thinking him a crazy lunatic but there was no judgment in her eyes, just worry. He had shakily reassured the woman he would be fine and thanked her again for bringing back his laptop. He asked if there was any way to repay for her kindness but she shrugged it off, asking only that he would go to bed and rest. A strange request from someone Arthur had just met but not a surprising one, all things considered.

The shower seemed too much of an effort right now so he just shed his clothes and crawled into the bed, trembling fingers rummaging underneath the pillow and pulling out crumpled piece of paper. A small light flickered in Arthur’s fingers and he lit up a cigarette, hardly caring for the fact it was not allowed to smoke in the apartment or that smoking in bed had _never_ been a good idea. His honey - coloured eyes flicked back and forth along the lines as he slowly inhaled the tangy cheap cigarette aroma.

‘ _Arthur Colin Daniels. Age thirty two. Leo. Social worker. Born in Greensville. Hospitalized at the age nineteen with severe mental breakdown. Recovered. Lives in Delmont. Single._ ’

This was a little ritual Arthur had been doing before bed for a while now. Something to remind himself who he was, his fear of waking up one day and forgetting own life being too great. The paper had hastily written notes plastered all over it, their mere presence reminding Arthur how grave his situation had become.

‘ _Not Cullen Rutherford_ ’

‘ _Not Cullen Rutherford_ ’

‘ ~~ _Not Cullen Rutherford_~~ ’

‘ _ ~~Templar~~_ ’

‘ _Commander_ ’

‘ _Need to find Lavi._ ’

And on top of the scribbles, in a black marker,was written one thing - ‘ **Leave me alone!** ’

***

The wind at the battlements is soft today, strands of her hair being gently blown away from her face. He wants to be that wind, to gently caress her face, to - 

“It’s a nice day,” he blurts out, regretting it a moment later as confusion washes over her perfect features. His hand slides to the back of his neck, as it always does when he is uncomfortable. A sparkle of laughter lights up in her eyes - she knows of that habit and is well aware of what it means. “It’s... There is something you wished to discuss.”

His heart is pounding in his throat. He hopes it is something dull and boring. Requisitions, next course of action... Anything really. Just not - Oh, but part of him yearns for something else. The part that he had been actively repressing since the moment he saw her at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“Cullen, I care for you. You know that... But I,” Lavinia started, her blue eyes fiercely fixed somewhere on his nose bridge. “I need to know. You... You left the templars but do you trust the mages? Could you ever think of me as anything more?”

“I could... I mean, I do... Think of you.”The breath hitched in his throat and he looked at her in utter surprise. That last part came out wrong. Maker, did he disrespect her by implying - He hid his face in his palms for a moment and sighed. “And what I might say in this sort of situation.”

He turned towards the mountains, trying to avoid her gaze.

“Above everything else, you are the _Inquisitor_. We are at war. I,” her hand on his shoulders, ruffling the fur of his mantle made him turn around and look at the woman in front of him. “I did not think it was possible.” he finished quietly.

“And yet I’m still here.” she said softly, full lips curling into a smile.

“So you are...”

***

Another sleepless night... No, that was not right. He slept, Arthur was sure of it. Then why does he feel so tired and why does everything feel so wrong?

With a deep sigh he opened the medical cabinet above the sink and rummaged in there for a while. His groping fingers had finally stumbled upon what he was looking for - a straight razor. It belonged to Arthur’s grandfather once, inlaid with mother of pearl and decorated with intricate golden filigree. 

The vividness of the dream... Her lips on his and the little gasp she made when their bodies pressed together, her tongue flicking playfully against his scar - 

_Wrong._

Arthur slammed the door of the cabinet shut, the mirror rattling from the force applied. He took off the glasses, staring at himself, lip curling up in a sneer. It was _all_ wrong.

_The image. Is. Wrong._

The razor was clenched in his hand, the blade shimmering dimly in the bathroom light. In one swift motion Arthur slashed at his own face, leaving a gash that crossed the right side of the lip, facing outwards on top. He nodded, blood colouring his chin crimson and then, when the mist had left his gaze, Arthur screamed as he stared at his own bloodied face.


	3. It Was The Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **The Weird Unicorns** The door, Charlie, the door is the answer to everything! To everything that once was and ever will be!  
>  **Charlie** Really?  
>  **The Weird Unicorns** Nooooooo...
> 
> Sorry, could not help myself.
> 
> Enjoy (hopefully) the new chapter!

**It Was The Door**

It was obvious that none believed the explanation Arthur provided as he burst into emergency room, bloodied towel pressed to his mouth. Receptionist might have given him a pass, since she did not ask Arthur to show the wound but the glare the nurses gave him were more then enough to see that the story of a colleague opening the door right in his face did not fly.

The cut looked _too_ clean, it could not have come from a blunt force. The wound itself did not split his lip in half but it did enough damage to leave the prominent scar, he was told.

‘That was the idea, wasn’t it?’ Arthur thought bitterly, clutching the edges of the seat in the small room as the doctor had administered local anesthesia and began to put stitches. Many, _many_ stitches.

“Mister Daniels.” doctor’s soft voice had caught Arthur with his hand on the door handle, getting ready to leave. Arthur’s back stiffened and he turned his head sideways, looking at the other man like a trapped animal.

“Y - yes?”

“Please, sit down. I have a couple of questions.”

Arthur’s heart dropped - the doctor had clearly picked up on his anxious behavior and wanted to question him. Moreover, it was not such a stretch to think the hospital had requested his medical history.

“How have you been doing recently?” the doctor browsed through some papers on the table and examined Arthur over his reading glasses.

“Fine.” he answered and bit his tongue. The word came out too quick. Too... Rehearsed.

“Mister Daniels, it is for your own benefit to be honest with me,” the doctor picked up documents and skimmed through them quickly, turning his attention to the man in front of him who, by now, looked like a deer in the headlights. “Have the nightmares returned?”

***

If the screams had not woken up the whole neighborhood, they surely had pulled both Judy and Richard Daniels out of their beds. The wailing was coming from Arthur’s room, who was visiting his parents for the Thanksgiving. 

The door itself was locked from the inside, forcing Richard to break the lock in order to gain access. Their son had been sitting in the middle of the room - unseeing eyes open wide - as he kept clawing at his scalp, his speech nothing but sobs and subsiding wails. After failing to rouse him out of this state Judy had phoned the emergency services, while Richard stayed with their son. By the time she was back Arthur had stopped screaming but his words were making no sense - he pleaded someone to stop, to get the demons out of his head and demanded to cleanse ‘the Tower’ before it was not too late.

As scared as the parents were, they were also bewildered by what Arthur was saying. Their son has never exhibited any interest in science fiction or fantasy. He was not raised in the religious household either. In fact, up to that very moment, he had been a rather calm child, whose two passions were baseball and history.

When the paramedics had finally arrived, Arthur had calmed down and curled up into fetal position. He also did not acknowledged anyone, reacting to the touches only by shivering and making himself smaller. Doctor Stevens, their GP, said he had never seen a mental breakdown like this and had re-directed Arthur to specialist who, in turn, advised intensive rehabilitation in one of the better facilities in the region.

***

These were no nightmares. Not like _those_ about the Tower. The memory of the events haunted him still, but no dreams ever came close to what had happened on the Thanksgiving twelve years ago.

“No, It is not... Like that,” Arthur muttered, desperately trying to explain his problem without sounding like a basket case. “I’ve been having vivid dreams recently, they leave me exhausted when I wake up,” he blinked and pushed his glasses higher up the nose. “But I do sleep. I time and track the progress.”

“Have you been taking any medication?”

“I -,” he paused and stared at his boots for a while. “I have been medication - free for quite a while. As you can see in my file,” Arthur added, somewhat frustrated with the fact that the doctor made him jump through all those hoops even though documentation contained all the relevant information. “With the permission of the specialist in charge.”

The doctor hummed tentatively and scribbled something down, finally handing the note to Arthur who was on his feet once more, eager to leave.

“Take one of these an hour before bed, mister Daniels. If your situation does not change within the coming week and a half I _strongly_ suggest contacting your psychiatrist.”

***

Phoning to work had been yet another plane of torture. Arthur was exceptionally responsible and diligent, his work was always highly praised.. He was absolutely sure Anna would have no problem with him asking free for today and yet he still felt guilty.

He pressed the phone to one ear, while fiddling with the car keys, waiting for the team manager to pick up.

“God all - mighty, Arthur, where were you?!”

He probably should have phoned before leaving for the hospital but the shock, combined with a painful cut were not a good combination. Once he was patched up and released, Arthur pulled out his phone and saw ten missed calls from their team manager.

“I’m sorry, I had a bit of an eventful morning.” an involuntary chuckle left his mouth. The situation was anything but funny, however Arthur could not help himself.

“Are you lisping?” Anna sounded perplexed. “Did someone -”

“A door, Anna. It was a door,” he interjected quickly, unwilling to get into the discussion. “Listen, I know we are swamped but is it possible for me to, maybe, ah -”

“Work from home?”

She knew him way too well. Arthur nodded quickly, realized no - one could see it and pinched his nose - bridge in irritation.

“Yes, please?”

“No problem,” she answered and he could swear there was suspicion in Anna’s voice. The door story was not gathering any fans, it seemed. “But I do have this case for you too look through, if you don’t mind. I’ll forward it in a moment. This kid... You will see for yourself.”

“That sounds ominous.” he commented dryly, plugging the keys into ignition.

“You better believe it,” Arthur heard her typing something. “Take care and let me know how you feel in a couple of days.”

“Will do.”

And just like that the conversation was over. Arthur looked in the rear view mirror at his mutilated face and sighed. If _only_ it was something as trivial as a door. Last thing he clearly remembered was searching for the razor. When he came to, his whole face was a pulsating knot of pain, blood all over both his cheek and chin and dripping into the sink. 

The phone chimed gently and Arthur unlocked it, frowning as he stared at the message.

**[???]: Hello, is it Cullen?  
[???]: Is everything alright? **


	4. What's In A Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy balls I updated. A classic case when a quarter of my brain wants to write this and the rest is screaming bloody murder and blocking me on every turn. I hope this chapter reads much better than i think it does. ^^
> 
> Enjoy, hopefully ^___^ I'll leave the cookie jar right here....

**What's In A Name**

It took thirty minutes to get home, another ten were wasted leaning against the door battling surges of both self - pity and unease. Composing himself had become a constant struggle, for more often than not Arthur felt like an impostor in his own life.

Five minutes went by while he kept staring at the small yellow box Arthur pulled out from the depths of the medical cabinet. Taking these would bring back the pleasurable stupor of not caring about a single thing. On the upside, the nightmares would be gone or, at least, he would be too out of it to have a clear recollection.

Another minute and the pills landed in the toilet, as Arthur firmly pressed the flush and briskly walked out of the bathroom.

His bedroom stank worse than the locker room at the local gym but he felt too tired to do anything. Opening the window would have to do and, hopefully, make a difference. Just as he was, still in the suit, Arthur dropped on the bed and grabbed his laptop case. It took him a moment to find the well - hidden pack of cigarettes but once the tangy smoke filled his lungs, Arthur sighed happily and slowly sank onto the pillows.

The buzz of the phone made him open his eyes and glance at the screen - Anna wanted to know if he got home safely. But that was not the message that made him sit up straight and toss the sad remains of the cigarette into the ashtray.

**[???]: Cullen?** **[???]: How are you doing?**

The concerned unknown sender was still waiting for a reply. Arthur’s fingers hovered over the touchscreen as at least five different responses fluttered around in his tired mind.

**[You]: Fine.**

The modern technology has a wonderful way of reducing someone’s privacy to the size of needle’s eye. He saw them typing and his fingers curled around the phone just a little bit tighter in both anticipation and fear.

**[???]: That’s a relief! Could I, maybe, call you?**

Arthur tossed the phone back on the bed and massaged his temples so vigorously it just added to the headache he already had. Normally, figuring out the mystery caller would not be so difficult but he was so tired, that even the easiest train of thought was in the danger of a derail. The screen lit up once again, sending soft vibration up his ankle. Arthur squinted, trying to make out the message.

**[???]: Don’t worry, I don’t bite :) I just think we could do better than our yesterday’s chat.**

It took him a moment and then he sat up even straighter and cursed, the memory of the previous day tossing him a name - Melissa. The tall dark haired woman who brought back his laptop. _The laptop._ Arthur reached out and looked at the small leather name tag hanging off one of the handles. ‘Cullen Rutherford’. That did, at least, explain the name-calling. Nobody else knew it, Arthur was sure of it. Once again the phone ended up in his hand and, after some hesitation, he pressed the ‘Call’ button.

__

__

It went off exactly three times and then her voice, as soft and melodic as he remembered, greeted him on the other side of the line.

“Melissa.”

“It’s - ” he had never called himself out loud by that other name. Arthur heard it in his dreams, saw it written on paper but he had never _pronounced_ it. As if saying the name would confirm him being crazy. “Cullen Rutherford. With the laptop.” Arthur bit his lip in annoyance - the laptop part was absolutely and utterly idiotic. There was a silver lining here - the name had rolled off his tongue as if he had been calling himself that his whole life. It felt... right.

“Well, I am very glad you still have it,” she chuckled and then fell silent for a moment. “Yesterday you seemed unwell. Are you feeling any better?”

”Definitely,” he sucked in every note of her voice like a sponge. It soothed him somehow, in a way nothing ever did. “Your concern is greatly appreciated,” and if that was not enough, Arthur added yet another layer of awkwardness. “Really, I mean it.”

“I feel like we should grab a coffee sometime. Would you be ok with that?” Melissa asked and he could swear there was a bit of hope in her voice.

“Yes, of course.”

“Great! I’ll be in touch, Cullen.”

“Looking forward.”

And then the conversation was over. Arthur exhaled and stared at the wall trying to gather his thoughts that suddenly went abuzz all at once. The whole situation felt surreal. He had only just met the woman and for the whole fifteen minutes that she spent within Arthur’s apartment, they have barely spoke to each other. And yet, despite the stiffness and awkwardness of his speech, they are meeting for coffee. _Eventually._

Absentmindedly Arthur booted the laptop and logged into his working profile, clicking on the little folder that showed exactly one new message. Anna was supposed to send him a case that needed his attention and there it was, an impersonal number in a .pdf format. Once clicked, it took a bit of time to load, indicating that the file was quite formidable but soon enough the name and the picture of the subject appeared on the screen, making Arthur frown as his stomach clenched in that familiar nauseating manner.

Barely an adult, her face still round and child - like, she daringly stared in the camera without even bothering to tie her straw - blond hair backwards for a better shot. And the name underneath - 

_’Sarah Walker.’’_


End file.
